


Sleeping Princess Syndrome

by veiledndarkness



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veiledndarkness/pseuds/veiledndarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merle's never been one to pass up an opportunity. Written for the twd_kinkmeme on Livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping Princess Syndrome

It takes more effort than normal to insert his key in the ignition and he growls at the truck as it coughs to life. He’s had a few…well, more n’ a few if he’s honest, and the rush of alcohol is almost too much and yeah, maybe he overdid it a little, but fuck it. Ain’t like he’s got some job waitin’ in the morning or some dishrag wife to screech at him for overdoin’ it.

How he makes it home, he’s not sure. The truck coughs again and sputters as he turns the engine off and he all but falls out the side, the truck door smacking him in the process. Cursing under his breath, he weaves up the dirt driveway and stares at the trailer home blearily.

No lights on an’ he’s not real sure if he’s at the right one, but fuck he needs to lay down cause the whole goddamned world is spinnin’ around n’ around. His stomach protests vainly as he wrenches the rusted screen door open and he peers inside, recognizing the few bits an’ pieces of furniture he hasn’t gotten rid of since the old man died.

The door creaks back into the frame and he feels like shushing at it cause he can see the outline of Daryl on the couch, no more than a foot or two away from where he’s standin’. He wipes a hand over his face and the room revolves with him as he crosses the distance to the couch and peers down at the sleeping body of his brother.

Out cold by the looks of it, he thinks. He stands there, the moments ticking by as he stares and before he knows quite what he’s doing, his hand lowers to touch the tufts of hair he can see through the darkness. He smiles clumsily and pets the soft hair, stroking and smoothing down the messy strands.

His pretty little brother…

He swallows thickly and his hand moves, just a little bit, tracing the way Daryl’s neck and jaw meet and he feels the urge to bite down there, leave a mark, use his teeth until he hears ‘im whimper. Arousal sizzles through his blood and he drops down to his knees beside the couch.

Musta fallen asleep waitin’ for him, he muses as he watches Daryl sleep, facedown on the couch, his face relaxed in slumber, his lips parted slightly. Better than some naggin’ wife cause Daryl won’t give him shit in the mornin’, won’t whine an’ fuss ‘bout how he wasn’t home on time.

He traces his hand down Daryl’s neck, down his shoulder, over his back. The worn fabric of Daryl’s shirt is in his way and he frowns at it. He pushes the fabric up heedlessly and runs his greedy hands over Daryl’s sleep warm skin and he spares a moment’s thought that he ought to slow down but he can’t, not when he can touch his brother without ‘im flinching like he does when he’s awake.

Boy’s all too shy about his scars, but he knows better. Scars are badges, but Daryl doesn’t believe him. 

He leans down and traces one long twisty scar, following its path with his tongue.

Daryl sighs in his sleep and he shifts a bit, his legs spread further apart and if that isn’t a sign that this is a golden opportunity, then Merle’ll eat his gun.

He moves lower and he can’t seem to stop touching him and it’s a heady fuckin’ rush. It’s better than the booze, an’ he feels like all the blood in his body has gone to his dick. Daryl’s warm and pliant under his big hands, easy enough to strip when the boy’s gone an’ obliged him by wearin’ nothing but old shorts an’ a thin shirt.

He leaves the shirt on Daryl, but moves it up, high as it’ll go. He pulls the shorts down to Daryl’s ankles and Christ, it’s a sight t’ see. He pauses at the muffled sound that Daryl makes, his too fucking pretty face distractin’ for a moment.

With a slow smile, he wets his finger and parts the boy’s cheeks, rubbing knowingly over him an’ there’s that soft sound again, and well, well folks, what do we have here? He chuckles under his breath to see Daryl’s startin’ to get a little aroused himself. He wonders for a moment what the boy’s dreamin’ about as his balls start to tighten up a bit.

Before long, he’s got his finger inside him, workin’ slow and steady and Daryl’s face is scrunched up, still asleep but his eyes are movin’ under the lids an’ he’s panting softly between those pink lips. He can feel the tiny movements the boy’s making and God, his cock aches to just shove inside him but he holds back an’ keeps openin’ him up, little by little.

He slips his own jeans down and leaves them around his knees, his dick trapped an’ heavy in his shorts. He works them down and the cool air makes him hiss ‘tween his teeth.

He manipulates his finger deeper inside Daryl, adding a second one. The boy’s hips are lifting a bit, working with him and he can’t help but fist his cock, watchin’ how Daryl’s body reacts to him. He strokes himself and rubs his fingers over and over inside of Daryl, knowin’ he’s hitting the right spot by the way the boy is all but fuckin’ _mewling_ and rutting against the couch, searchin’ instinctively for friction.

He shifts to the side, feeling his own balls tighten, feeling that pleasure rocket up his spine an’ he can see Daryl’s lips, so pink and invitin’ that he wants to shove his cock in there as well. He settles for letting his orgasm rush up, up and fucking God, he sways, his come landing in spurts across Daryl’s lips and chin.

With a choked moan, he rubs his fingers in hard and yeah, there it is, Daryl whines low in his throat and his hips buck an’ he knows the boy is comin’ against the couch cushion, he can feel the muscles clamp down on his fingers, milkin’ the feeling.

Daryl slumps back down against the couch, his tongue swiping over his come covered lips and his eyes are open the slightest bit an’ he looks so confused that he wants to laugh till it hurts.

“Merle?” he whispers thickly, not completely awake.

“G’on back to sleep,” he whispers back, patting the boy’s head again, a bit more gently. “Jus’ a bad dream is all.”

Daryl blinks once, then again and licks his lips once more and that…fuck, that’s makin’ his cock twitch somethin’ fierce. He doesn’t seem to notice the wetness on his chin, or the mess under him and he nods sleepily, closing his eyes.

Merle sits back an’ digs a pack of cigarettes out of his jeans’ pocket, letting the room sway around him all over as he lights a cigarette.


End file.
